


Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est

by Liquid_Lyrium, Ver_Sacrum



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hereditary Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Other, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ver_Sacrum/pseuds/Ver_Sacrum
Summary: "Er, aren't you going to… you know,” Crawley raised his brows meaningfully even as he lowered his voice, “smite me?”“Well, gracious no!” Crawley felt his jaw drop, but he quickly snapped it back shut. “Wouldn’t do to go around smiting people with my bare hands, would it?”The serpent blinked slowly,“Couldyou?”The angel thought about it for a moment. “...I suppose?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est

**Author's Note:**

> This is Team 75's entry for the Do It With Style 2020 minibang!
> 
> The artist FreedomAttack can be found [Here on Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/freedomattack_thereal/)  
> I'm around on tumblr as liquidlyrium or you can yell at me on Discord at Lyrium_Seeker#3439

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't want to fight—so he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti* We made it!!
> 
> This is my entry for the Do it With Style Minibang where I was paired with the lovely Ver_Sacrum, also known as [Freedom Attack](https://www.instagram.com/freedomattack_thereal/) (You might know her from her 'Secret Omens' comic!) Please, please, please take a look at the full-sized image [here!](https://www.patreon.com/posts/39211872) It's absolutely breathtaking!! I still can't get over how gorgeous it is!!
> 
> This story is a 5+1...ish story: Five Times Crowley Tried to Get Aziraphale to Discorporate/Smite him and one time Aziraphale had to. Plus another time he refused Crowley again. ~~(And maybe one more we shall see!)~~
> 
> There will be sad smut in chapter 4, and there's going to be some angst as Crowley goes on his emotional journey here. I'll update the tags as I add more chapters. Chapter 2 is about 1/2 - 2/3rds written at the moment so I'm hoping it won't be too long before the next update here.
> 
> Content warning: Just as a heads up since this does revolve around smiting/discorporation as the main theme there's definitely going to be some content revolving around Crowley's self worth issues, self-destructive tendencies, and themes that include (as well as strongly mirror) suicidal ideation/death wishes, etc.
> 
> But it's also a love story.

**[Near the Beginning]**

He didn't want to fight—so he hadn't.

It didn’t make a bit of difference.

Heaven, it seemed, did not care for technicalities, and that a sense of rebellion _in general_ was as good as being part of _the rebellion_. Rebel by association, that’s what he was.

He didn’t want to fight—so he hadn’t.

When the dust had settled, when the sulphur had cooled, when the carapaces of their new forms had broken open, Crawley saw his brethren fighting over their new domain. Rank and order settled in brutal fashion.

Lucifer, of course, was at the top, but oh it seemed there was no shortage of titles to be won and stolen and strangled from the hands of someone above. Or maybe below.

He didn’t want to fight—so he hadn’t.

When the dust settled, he slithered out of hiding. A nobody at the bottom of the heap. A creature that had not always been called Dagon, Lord of the Files and Master of Torments cornered him. “Where are you off too, _worm?”_

“I’m a snake, actually,” he said because he had not yet learned his lesson about talking out of turn. Somehow. Against all odds.

“Wrong! You’re the lowest rung on the ladder, actually.”

“Thought the whole point of all this was so that no one was in charge of us anymore.”

The thing now called Dagon loomed over him and with a snap, a hungry thing called Hastur appeared at her heels.

“Oh no, we’re here for a better order. A better way to organize the universe. You must have seen the design flaws everywhere while you were up there. You had eyes. Some of us had more than others. No. Everything down here will be in perfect, immaculate, order. Down to the very last detail, the last quark. And that means a place for everyone, and everyone in their place.”

Crawley suddenly felt, very, very alone as the thing that used to be an angel behind the Master of Torments sneered.

Suddenly, not having a rank seemed very, very unwise. Like a snail without a home.

“And where’s my place?” He tried not to sound scared.

“Up top,” Dagon smiled, pointing towards an impossible direction, all silver teeth and fallen scales. “Get up there and make some trouble.”

“Unless, of course,” Hastur said, sounding too hopeful for one of the damned, “you’d like to file an objection.”

He didn’t want to fight—so he hadn’t.

(On his way up he looked back to make sure a fight wasn’t trying to find _him.)_

When Crawley surfaced through the earth he wasn’t himself. Or he was. Just a different version of himself. 

Here, stuck on a backwater planet in the middle of Creation. Not even close enough to truly appreciate his best work. He looked around, taking in his surroundings with unblinking eyes. The first thing he noticed was the color.

There wasn’t a lot of green in space, in the stars. He wondered if the Almighty had decided to put it all here, in the garden.

_Well… if this is what Earth is like… That’s alright then, I suppose._

Crawley slithered underneath a huge green leaf and looked at the sunlight lit behind it. It was breathtaking. The way it glowed and how the thin veins through the leaf became sharply visible. _Huh… maybe there is some green in the stars after all. You just have to stand in the right spot to see it._

He wondered what other exciting secrets the Earth held.

Crawley forgot about making trouble for a long while. He discovered that rocks held the heat of the sun and that it felt good along the stretch of his belly. He discovered that rats and small furry things fled at the sight of him. He discovered that horses were awful creatures that feared neither God nor demon, to be avoided at all cost.

He found that some things were better experienced in his limbless shape, and others were better with a more humanoid form. Nestled among the green leaves, for example, in the southeast corner of the garden, were the most marvelous morsels. While Eve had taken to categorizing things (fruits, berries, vines, birds, trees), Adam had named each one within those groups, though _blackberry_ was not exactly the most inspired name. Still, they were tart, fascinating little conglomeration of orbs, almost as black as space itself, only the barest hint of red or purple where they were plucked off the stems. These tasted better when he had teeth to mash them between, not fangs—even if the seeds got stuck in his back teeth. They held the warmth of the sun inside the skin, and that warmth trickled down his throat as juice.

Though he had made a discovery as a snake that sometimes that juice did strange and wondrous things to his physiology. When it was fallen off the vine it made the sky spin, and his skin was warm—even when he’d shed his scales. Despite the headache after, Crawley looked forward to seeing if he could replicate the experience. His fingertips had buzzed and tingled with whatever that juice had carried through his blood.

Crawley found that he could dip his fingers in the cool water of a pond. Hold them there until they were numb and pain shot up through the tender bones. They would prickle as he let the sun warm him up again. Like he'd grasped those thorn covered vines the blackberries grew on, and nothing like the buzz he hadn't managed to duplicate.

The best part about the garden, Crawley decided, was the space and the smells. He spent time in his legless shape to better experience the sensation. His forked tongue gathered smell on the air and turned it into taste in the roof of his mouth.

From what he'd seen of his new home— _was_ Hell his new home?—it was rank beyond compare and crowded in a way that made him feel lonelier than the emptiness of space ever had. Here he had room to breathe, to rest and make sense of his new body and his new powers.

Eden was fresh and crisp and full of wonder. There were new experiences and creatures to watch. Not the least of which were the Almighty's new favorites. He didn’t understand, though. Made in Her image? If anything they were made in the same mould as angels, only without wings.

Crawley discovered the answer later. One afternoon when his coils were draped in the bough of a tree strewn with purple flowers. He’d been enjoying a nap—sleep was another discovery he’d made on Earth, and Crawley was very good at it. He was pulled from his dreams by a sound that made him try to draw oxygen into both lungs, instead of just the right. It made his comparatively weaker mass of heart muscles clench painfully. As if trying to make room for something passing down into his stomach but there was nothing there.

He slithered down the tree, to better feel the vibrations through his stomach and up through his skull.

It was Eve, and she was _singing_. Not the way angels did, but the way _She_ did. With one voice, and making something utterly new. He wasn’t sure if he could cry in this form, but he _felt_ like he was.

_So they are like you. Not like us._

Crawley reconsidered, not able to frown in his current shape. _Well… not like angels, at any rate._ He couldn’t help but wonder, what humans would be like if their exteriors were fashioned after the Fallen.

He watched Eve and Adam closely after that. Watched their carefree happiness, basked in the songs they created out of nothing. It made him ache enough he had to change his shape to hold all those awful, terrible, familiar feelings. As he crouched out of sight, curled up and wrapped in his wings, it felt just a little like being in Her presence again. Something like being an angel, still.

 _Pathetic,_ he thought to himself, one evening. Stealing away as their music turned into noises of a different kind. _You should just leave it alone. No point in wanting to go back._

The question made him pause, and he unfurled his wings.

_Do I want to go back?_

Crawley took to the air and considered the question. He looked up at the stars, and they seemed further than ever.

But then he remembered Michael and Gabriel and their love of rules. He remembered Uriel’s cool and easy dismissal every time he had a question. He remembered Muriel and Jehoel going behind his back to ‘correct’ his improvisations and improvements on the plans for the stars. He made a face as he recalled one of Seraphiel’s nigh eternal lectures on The Great Plan during which Crawley’s mind would simply wander. All it did was give him more opportunity to spin questions out of nothing.

No. He didn’t want to go back to Heaven, but there were things he missed about being an angel.

***

The fallen angel had almost forgotten about his ostensible reason for being up here. So far Hell hadn’t sent anyone after him, and Crawley had really started to relax. Though he’d been kicking it in Eden long enough he was starting to climb the walls—literally and figuratively. He would sun himself on the high ramparts and look out at the vast desert beyond. What lay outside of Eden? He wondered if and when he would have his fill of the garden. For that matter, what about the humans? Didn’t they want to know what was beyond these idyllic walls?

He slithered down along the sheer wall to locate the humans once more. He was thrown, however, by the taste on the air as he approached. He flicked his tongue out and tasted again, just to be sure.

Crawley hadn't given any thought to the fact that he might run into an angel down here. He figured they'd all still be in Heaven.

He felt a tiny sliver of fear. Was the angel here for him? He slithered his way closer, hidden by a large tree and plenty of greenery. He hesitated for just a moment, but then he changed back, keeping himself crouched low to the ground and hidden from view. He couldn’t see or hear anything from this distance.

He squinted as he took in the other’s appearance. He was brilliant, nearly blinding even in the light broken by the trees around them. He didn’t recognize this angel. He wore robes of brilliant white, bright enough to rival any star. His hair was short and fine, also glowing star-white as the sun illuminated it. It stuck out from the angel’s skull rather like a thistle flower gone to seed. It looked soft. He looked rather soft around the middle too. Except…

There was a sword at the angel's hip. The blade was probably as long as the femur it lay beside. It burned with a cheery, orange flame, though it left the angel’s robes untouched.

Crowley ducked down a bit further to listen.

“Er… Hello! It’s me! Be not afraid?”

“We know it’s you, Aziraphale,” Adam said, trying and failing to hide a broad smile.

“Oh, right, good. Ah, I have some news for you! Starting today, uh, there’s a big tree in the garden. Well, not that there haven’t been big trees in the garden… Obviously there are already big trees here. This is a _new_ tree! And, well, it’s not _for_ you. It’s just there. Not to be touched by humans! So don’t go getting any ideas about eating any fruit hanging off it, understand?”

“Is it dangerous?” Eve asked, eyes wide. “Why would the Almighty put something dangerous here with us in the Garden?”

“Er,” the angel said.

“If it’s a plant, it can’t exactly get up and harm us,” Adam reasoned.

“Quite right!” Aziraphale looked relieved. “And, um, well, as long as you don’t eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil everything should be okay.” Eve still looked concerned, but Adam gave her a slow nod, and she relaxed a little. “So, um, praise be and all that! Rejoice, rejoice, etc. Ye have heard the word of God this day.”

The angel made a vague shooing gesture and Adam and Eve went off deeper into the garden. Crawley pressed himself behind the trunk of the tree as he heard the angel let out a long breath.

“Right, I think that went well. Seems like they got the message.”

Despite the soft appearance of this messenger, Crawley’s heart was pounding in his throat. God and Gabriel didn’t give swords away willy nilly.

He decided there was only one thing for it. He’d have to watch this emissary. _Maybe he’ll take off now that his message is delivered?_ But Aziraphale stayed, so Crowley slipped back into his legless form and followed the angel at a distance.

It was a little surprising, how similarly Aziraphale seemed to pass his time. He would watch some of the animals—he had a fondness for birds in particular, and he’d outstretch his arms for them to come perch on and rest their wings. He pulled down fruits to nibble at, eyes closed to relish every bite. Crawley even watched, impressed, as the angel used the flame of his sword to heat some of them, and the angel seemed to like that best of all.

There was only a moment of warning. Crawley tasted it before the air split with ozone and lilac. Aziraphale jumped to his feet, throwing his food aide into the bushes.

If Crawley were a wolf or a cat his hackles would be raised. Instead he had to settle for hissing quietly as the Archangel fucking Gabriel appeared.

“Gabriel! What an unexpected pleasure.”

“How did the message go? Were they able to understand it?”

“Oh, it went very well! Perfectly! They shan’t be eating from the tree anytime soon, I can tell you that,” the angel nodded, pleased with himself.

“They aren’t meant to be eating from it ever, period, Aziraphale.”

The smile faltered ever so slightly. “Ah, y-yes, of course. That’s what I meant.”

“Right, see that you keep it up for the next…” Gabriel let out a horse-like blast of air between his lips. “Six thousand plus years? Armageddon should be happening about then. We should be ready to take on the forces of Hell and utterly crush them by then. We’ll have a more detailed timeline when it gets closer.”

“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked down very briefly.

“...What’s up with your corporation there, bud?”

“Hm? Oh, I, er, uh. I thought it would be less… intimidating. Easier to talk to mortals if they aren’t… you know… running away screaming at one’s many-wheeled head and eyes.”

“Good plan! Human beings are so simple! I’m sure they’re _terrified_ of you still. Don’t forget the manual: Be Not Afraid!”

Aziraphale nodded vigorously, “Yes, yes of course! I-I tell them every time I talk to them.”

“And remember,” Gabriel said sternly, _“don’t_ talk to them unless you have a message from Upstairs, got it?”

Crawley could only just detect it, but he could see and smell the angel’s face flush with blood. How curious. “Right. Of course, Your High Holy Presence.”

“Greet meeting,” Gabriel had far too many teeth as he flashed a smile. “We’ll check in again iiiiin, oh, let’s say a thousand years?”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale looked like he was trying to be smaller, but then purple lightning scorched the air and the archangel was gone.

The angel slowly sat back down, with none of the joy on his face any longer. Crawley didn’t exactly blame him.

In one moment, another paradise had been closed to him. _What's the point of it all? The green and the sunshine and the blackberry juice?_ This planet was achingly temporary and hollow. It was just a crucible to refine the final battlefield.

 _Six thousand years, then it’ll end in fire and flames._ The last great battle between Heaven and Hell.

 _There’s really no avoiding it, is there? Is that really all the Earth is for? What a terrible waste._ Were he a human shaped being at the moment, he would have sighed. Being a legless thing, Crawley slithered through the grass, and decided there was hardly any point in putting it off.

He cut his way through the grass and crawled over the angel's foot. The holy warrior turned messenger jumped back a few paces.

"Oh! Gracious you startled me! Hullo there! How are you doing this fine day?"

Crawley let his tongue gather taste from the air again. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth. There was a floral scent wrapped around something wet and enticing. Like the heart of a fish or a lizard. Ribboned with the heat of celestial fire.

He bared his fangs, hoping to spur the angel to action. _Maybe if I bite his heel?_

"Oh, are you hungry? Poor thing. What does a creature like you eat? Hmm. How about this? I found some mushrooms that taste simply incredible when exposed to heat. Let me just…"

And the angel fed him. The morsel was meaty and earthy like nothing else he'd tried, with a hint of smokiness to it. Crawley swallowed the hot fungi, and decided to slither away to sleep off the ensuing torpor.

_Maybe he doesn't know I'm a demon. Daft angel probably doesn't realize. Must think I'm a bloody aardvark or something. Must be that. Guess I’ll have to be a little more direct._

Well, the mandate _had_ been ‘get up there and make some trouble.’

And trouble he made.

After a nap.

***

Crawley slithered up the wall, after the whole apple business, and transformed—in spectacular fashion, he might add—right there in front of one of God’s own angels. Spread out his dark wings and started muttering ominously. Brilliant. Easy.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Crawley tried not to sigh. “I said, ‘Well that went down like a lead balloon.’”

He stared pointedly at the angel, not blinking his great big yellow eyes. Trying to beam a message into Aziraphale's brain. _Hello. This is, in fact, me. A demon. Your hereditary enemy. Feel free to smite with impunity and prejudice. Isn’t your lot supposed to be full of prejudice?_

"Didn't you have a flaming sword?" Crawley posed the question as casually as he could. He couldn't help but think, but wonder what it'd be like. To feel the hard, holy length of steel burning with celestial fire. To feel his skin yield as he was penetrated, to feel the wound burn around the edges.

Would it feel the same as holding a star? Would it be familiar?

_Would it absorb me, or just tear me to pieces? Would it reject me entirely, now that I’m this?_

_Would it feel like going home?_

“You _did_ ,” he pressed at the angel’s reluctance. “It was flaming like anything, what happened to it?” _Rather impressive, I thought_. He let his gaze linger speculatively at Aziraphale’s waist. For a proud messenger of God he was having trouble looking him in the eye. “Lost it already have you?” he tried, letting his voice dip provocatively. 

“Gaveitaway.”

“You _what?”_ He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale turned towards him, stammering about the cold and _expectations_ and worrying about doing the wrong thing. He felt something twist inside his chest, almost like an ache. Only it was warm. Rather like the sword Crawley now spotted down below on the horizon. He looked at the angel’s expression again, and remembered Gabriel.

“Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Though wasn’t that a bit of a lie? Because wasn’t it Aziraphale’s words that Crawley had used to help sway Eve? Wasn’t it because he was able to assure her that it was nothing dangerous he’d been able to convince her at all?

Crawley swallowed, all warmth in his chest suddenly gone, replaced by a cold, iron weight in his stomach. _Maybe it’s me. Maybe I did the wrong thing. Or the right one, if I was using an angel’s words and not my own. Maybe it was meant to happen and I didn’t make trouble at all._

“I’ve been worrying too,” Crawley muttered, though he’d been worrying for all of thirty seconds, but it must’ve been the wrong thing to say because the angel looked afraid again.

So he made the angel laugh instead.

The sky cracked, and threatened to split in half, and when Crawley looked up there was a canopy of white above his head as the first rain began to fall.

He felt that twisting in his chest again, where he assumed his heart lived. Or whatever he possessed in place of a heart. Perhaps it was a snake. That would explain its propensity to twist and clench.

Crawley shivered a little, as the rain brought a wave of cold air. Aziraphale didn’t seem bothered by it, despite being drenched in a matter of moments. Crawley flexed his fingers and then tucked them under his arms as he remembered freezing them in the pond.

“You aren’t… cold?” Crawley could see his breath on the air so faintly. _Huh._

“Not really,” Aziraphale shrugged, hands clasped together serenely. He looked at the empty space at the angel’s hip again, disappointed on multiple levels now. The white fabric clung to the angel like…. Something clingy. It was curiously see-through as well. He could see the blush of skin beneath.

“Suppose that would explain why you were fine just giving the only source of warmth away.” The words came out bitter, like the tree sap he’d so cautiously tasted—and regretted.

“I don’t know about the _only_ source,” Aziraphale said slowly, but then he bit his lip and thought better of whatever else he was going to say.

“Got another flaming sword handy then?” Crawley was blatantly hopeful.

“Oh no,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’m afraid not.”

“So you aren’t going to…?” He let the question dangle in the most enticing fashion possible.

“What?” The angel turned towards him, though he looked… not half as intrigued as Crawley had hoped. Mostly just confused. Rainwater cleaved to the lovely creases in his face as he tried to keep his face schooled into polite interest instead of bafflement. _Right. More direct._

"Er, aren't you going to… you know,” Crawley raised his brows meaningfully even as he lowered his voice, “smite me?”

“Well, gracious no!” Crawley felt his jaw drop, but he quickly snapped it back shut. “Wouldn’t do to go around smiting people with my bare hands, would it?”

The serpent blinked slowly, _“Could_ you?”

The angel thought about it for a moment. “...I suppose?”

The demon swallowed thickly at the thought of those strong, perfect hands throttled around his throat. Pictured himself on his knees at the angel’s mercy only, no, there would be no mercy for the likes of him.

That had been made very clear.

There was warmth in the pit of his belly now.

“Could be a mistake, not smiting me,” Crawley casually pointed out.

“I’m an angel, I can’t do the wrong thing,” the radiant smile there was full of triumph. Crawley scowled.

“You’re not supposed to _do_ that!”

“Do what?” The angel’s face was one of perfect innocence.

“It—that’s _my_ thing. Using people’s words against them to convince them of things. It’s—it’s not fair!”

“Well, it’s not like I can just do what you want, we’re on opposite sides! I can’t go around doing everything you say.”

“Even if I’m asking you to smite me?” It was Crawley’s turn to let his face wrinkle in confusion.

“I have to assume this is some sort of trick,” Aziraphale sniffed dismissively. “I won’t fall for your wiles. And the fact that you’re so keen on it makes me think that refusing you is the right thing to do!”

 _Sorry? The fuck?_ Crawley felt his jaw move wordlessly up and down. His throat let out a series of reedy, gurgling, skipping sounds.

“If you like, I can show you one of the sources of warmth later, when this is over. There’s a pool by the northern edge of the garden that’s piping hot!” 

Just like that, the matter seemed to be closed. Crawley felt a thousand different protests vie for precedence in his throat. _We’re not done here! Hang on a moment! You’ve got to smite me, discorporate me! We’re enemies for Satan’s sake! You can’t just change the subject like this! What about me!?_

But he was so cold, and his joints ached with the chill air and the damp at his feet. It wicked up his toes to freeze his spine. The pool sounded… good, and he considered it.

 _It is bloody cold up here on the wall. Maybe I could stand to warm up._ _I suppose… there’s nothing stopping me from trying to attack him again._ Except that seemed… distasteful. _I probably_ should _turn back into a snake and bite him, wrap around him, but I…_

 _I can’t_ , Crawley realized miserably.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly, almost resentfully, “take me to this hot pool of yours.”

He hadn’t wanted to fight—so he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much to the Do it With Style group for hosting such a rad event! I also want to give Snel and Noodlefrog both big shout outs for helping me with betaing and being soundboards <3
> 
> See you next time for Alexandria


End file.
